


Magic Potion

by pumpkinpeyes



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, First Kiss, M/M, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Tumblr Prompt, eddie is in the hospital and in a coma, magical problem solving, richie is just trying to get his boy awake, witches' potion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:01:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23168173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pumpkinpeyes/pseuds/pumpkinpeyes
Summary: “Do the Natives that you stole that artifact from happen to have anything for mortal wounds?” Richie asks, looking up from his hunched position over an old Derry book that he assumes is an actual, literal Grimoire.Mike gives him a withering look that is only belied by the fond set of his mouth, “I think we’re past hallucinogenic teas at this point.”
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 45





	Magic Potion

Richie wouldn’t say that he is exactly the smartest of the group. In fact, he’d argue that out of any of them, Mike and Bev were the most likely to have their collective brain cells - and for good reason. Arguably, Mike was probably just as likely to use some sort of brew (Richie refuses to let Mike forget that he dosed Bill) but unlike Mike, Richie wasn’t as good at researching as Mike. But that was neither her nor there. Fact is: Eddie was still in the hospital and still in a coma after nearly dying thanks to a weird crab-like claw through the chest. Richie wants to see him better and that is pretty much the only real thought he’s given to the process. 

Magic, Richie had thought for the longest time, was strictly a fairy-tale wild-card and general hand-wavy way to make things work. He knew that Pagans were real and practiced their own versions of magic but he’d always assumed that their spells and ‘potions’ were just an earthy prayer that worked more off of a series of self-fulfilling actions. He should have figured that in a world where a demon from space exists in the form of a clown composed of light, anything was possible. 

He’d done enough research to know vaguely what was legitimate and what was just new-age witch nonsense. He’d buckled and roped Ben and Mike into the process, mostly because it felt less like the panicked hope of a crazy man that way and more like legitimate problem-solving. Bev and Bill were at Eddie’s side, quietly doubting their process and steeling themselves for what they felt was inevitable disappointment. Richie couldn’t blame them, he was pretty skeptical himself, but desperate enough to do whatever he could. 

“Do the Natives that you stole that artifact from happen to have anything for mortal wounds?” Richie asks, looking up from his hunched position over an old Derry book that he assumes is an actual, literal Grimoire. 

Mike gives him a withering look that is only belied by the fond set of his mouth, “I think we’re past hallucinogenic teas at this point.”

“I think I have something here.” Ben interrupts, turning his book of newspaper clippings to Mike. “There’s a series of clippings that mention a woman, some sort of old-timey hedge-witch responsible for helping some women through their pregnancies. She was fined for selling tonics to the locals here in Derry.”

Richie looks over the clipping, “And you think that a snake-oil saleswomen is the answer to a coma?”

“I feel like it’s worth a shot.” Ben shrugs, “It’s the best lead we have right now that doesn’t involve trying to get an unconscious man to drink a herbal tea under the noses of his nurses and doctors.”

“Yeah, that’s fair. Scathing comment rescinded.” Richie stands and claps his hands together. “Sounds like it’s time for a road trip!”

-

“Well, this place looks promising.” Richie says with fake cheer.

The boys are standing by Mike’s car, looking down a short, dirt road at a cottage that has seen better days. It’s charming, in its own way, what with the over-grown ivy and out-of-control flowerbeds. The door is red and large but riddled with peeling paint and what looks suspiciously like old, dried egg. There’s a light on in what Richie imagines is the sitting room and a bundle of twigs over her door tied together with what looks like red yarn. He notices the series of very off-putting gnomes guarding her doorstep last.

“Looks can be deceiving.” Ben offers.

Richie snorts, “Is that what you say when someone gets a look at your dick?”

“Beep-Beep, Richie.” Mike warns.

“Yeah, I heard it as it was coming out of my mouth.” Richie grimaces. “How much should we say? Is there anything we should leave out?”

Ben opens his mouth to say something just as the front door to the house creeks open to reveal a rather old lady in a housecoat squinting at them. She hollers up to them, exasperated and a little crotchety, “Are you going to come in or are you going to stand out in the rain like idiots?”

“Rain?” Richie asks, just in time to feel the first of many drops hit him square in the nose. “Oh, ok. This definitely looks promising - not being sarcastic this time. Yes,” he yells up to the woman, pulling Mike and Ben along with him, “we’d love to come in.”

The inside of her house is only marginally better than the outside in the way that it looks like controlled chaos that is dusted at least semi-regularly. There are books stacked horizontally to conserve on space on practically any surface that will support them as well as shelves upon shelves of mason jars and plastic Tupperware containers filled with things he assumes are either ingredients or a weird collection of horrors. He’s too full of nervous energy to put forth effort to discern the chicken-scrawl on their labels.

The old woman hobbles further into her house with a wave to them that he imagines means for them to follow. Richie was right, the light is a lamp that looks like it was from when light bulbs first became a thing. The rest of the house is dark and barely-lit - something he feels is just an accident waiting to happen for a woman who is clearly at least partially blind - but he keeps that to himself. As the woman leads them into her kitchen a cat skitters around her ankles and darts past the three of them with a growl that spooks a squeak out of Ben.

“You want a potion.” She calls over her shoulder and he imagines that it’s a question but it sounds more like a statement.

Richie steps ahead of Mike and Ben, “Yes, Ma’am, we have a friend in the hospital who-”

She waves an irritated hand in his face, “I know who it’s for, Bean Stalk.”

“Okay...” Richie frowns, “How-”

Another hand wave, “I’m old, not stupid.”

“You’re doing great.” Mike whispers behind him.

The woman continues on, opening her cabinets to reveal more storage space for mason jars and old, ceramic bowls, “It doesn’t take a genius to know that you closed the door to the Deadlights. I can see its influence on all of you, especially you,” she jerks her thumb over her shoulder at Richie. “I’m impressed and thankful. It claimed the young daughter of a good friend of mine some time ago.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Ben offers, solemn. 

She makes a little ‘aha’ sound and turns to them, “Thank you, now, can one of you help me reach the top shelf? I’d ask Charles but you scared him off.”

“I’m gonna assume Charles is the cat.” Richie says, stepping forward. “What do you need?”

She grabs his hand and pricks his finger lightning fast. He yelps and reflexively tries to snatch his hand away but her grip on his wrist is like an iron manacle. He lurches forward when she pulls his arm to the stove to hover over a simmering pot that looks as old as she does. He makes a noise in the back of his throat when she pinches a drop of his blood out of his fingertip. 

“Sorry.” She says, stirring it in. “Technically, the blood has to be given unwillingly.”

“That does not make me feel better but thanks?”

Ben and Mike come up to Richie’s sides to peak at the stove. The liquid is actively bubbling and dangerously close to frothing over. It’s the color of nightmares, Richie’s mind supplies. 

“Your friend, you love him, yes?” She asks over her shoulder, voice soft.

Richie chokes on his own spit while the two men next to him just nod, he sputters, “I mean, I love all my friends-”

“I told you, Bean Stalk: I’m old, not stupid.” She switches the stove off and turns around to the three of them, waving her wooden spoon. “Here’s the skinny,” she pokes Richie in the chest, “you need to drink this and then, immediately,” she stresses, “kiss your boy.”

“I-” Richie stammers, “what?”

She gives him a withering look and then turns, opens up another cabinet and pulls down a clean, empty coffee tumbler. She fills it up with the steaming concoction and then twists the lid on it. Mike reaches out to take it from her with a nod as if to say ‘thank you and I’ll make sure he follows your instructions’. 

“Good.” She nods, hands on her hips. “Now, get out of my house.”

-

Bill and Bev are understandably skeptical but desperate enough to concede. Richie is nervous and feels like everyone kind of breezed past the part where he’s in love with Eddie. He can’t really even find it in himself to care more than a little with Eddie laying there looking so small and pale. Mike is next to him, looking speculative but hopeful, and hands him the coffee tumbler full of blood-juice.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Ben asks, trying to be helpful.

Richie winces, “I hope that’s not a jinx. At least I had my tetanus shot, I think. Bottoms up!”

It does not taste good. Richie gags his way through something that is vaguely the consistency of gravy with little bits of what he hopes are herbs and spices. At least that little bit of his blood is going back in his own body. He only breathes through his mouth after finishing to avoid throwing it all back up at the smell alone. Mike man-handles him to Eddie’s bedside and Richie almost hesitates but thinks better of it when he hears that old woman’s voice ring in his head. 

So he leans over and kisses Eddie. Definitely not the way he wanted their first kiss to go considering that he isn’t awake and can’t exactly consent. He knows that even though Eddie is married that his plan wasn’t to stay that way. The hope that had flared in Richie’s chest when he’d heard that only spurred on his mind to crank out various day dreams in which he could finally kiss his best friend. The kissing bridge comes to mind.

Eddie’s lips are chapped and dry and Richie would normally have his eyes closed but he’s desperate to see those doe eyes open.

When they do, it isn’t a flutter, no, it is a snap. Suddenly, he’s awake and gasping against Richie’s lips. His arms twitch up to grab onto Richie’s coat and Eddie makes a ‘mrrp’ sound behind his lips. Richie pulls back just far enough to stare give him space and watches, mesmerized, while Eddie’s tongue sweeps across his own lips and makes a face.

“God, what is on your mouth?”

The room erupts into a series of grateful sobs and they surround Eddie’s bed. Bev suddenly has the brain cell and thinks to hit the call light. She informs the nurse’s station that Eddie’s awake and is pulled into a tight hug by Ben.

Richie laughs, “Just some witches’ potion and some of my own blood.”

Eddie looks scandalized, “Blood? Richie, that’s so gross!”

“That would be what you focus on.” Richie leans forward to rest his forehead against Eddie’s and feels tears well-up in his eyes. “I’m just glad you’re awake.”

Eddie softens but breaks them apart to wipe at his mouth with his hand, “You are going to have to wash your face, exfoliate your lips, and brush your teeth before you kiss me again.”

“Again?” Richie parrots, all hopeful with a goofy smile.

“Yes, again. Now get out of the way, there’s a line.” Eddie swats at him playfully.

Richie just laughs, feeling so thankful and lighter than air and idly wonders if that old lady would appreciate an edible arrangement. 

**Author's Note:**

> find me @pumpkinpeyes for prompt lists and requests or to just say hi


End file.
